


ICWUDT

by blythechild



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron Hotchner meets an old aquaintance at a conference who gives him some helpful advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ICWUDT

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift drabble to someotherathena. The title is shorthand for "I see what you did there" - don't worry, I had to look it up too when I first saw it.
> 
> No warnings apply.
> 
> This story is fanfiction and as such I claim no ownership over the characters herein. It was written as a personal entertainment.

Hotch learned to smirk from John Blackwolf. 

It was special because it was so slight, so difficult to differentiate from the bland mask of tolerance that they both habitually wore as to appear _invisible_. The Blackwolf Smirk had served Hotch well over the years with UNSUBs and tedious superiors alike, and yet he had never been able to thank the man who had given it to him. Aside from the one case that had brought them together so many years ago, Hotch hadn’t seen or heard from Blackwolf since the team left the Apache reservation behind them. Strange, he thought, that such a brief and tense collaboration had resulted in such a lasting legacy. He used that damned smirk almost every day.

Hotch made the rounds at the Dallas Criminal Law Enforcement Conference, glancing at the wares in the vendor’s section with casual disinterest. He was killing time before he, Reid, and Rossi were to do their song and dance for Quantico Academy recruitment in the main speaking hall. He hated everything about these shows and being a walking advertisement for the Bureau. He felt like he was being pimped out by Strauss and it made his skin crawl. These recruitment talks only told part of the story. They didn’t tell people how the job would consume you, fracture your relationships, or hurt the ones you cared about the most. Sometimes he just wanted to say _yeah, look at us: an isolated widower, a thrice-divorced womanizer, and a socially stunted nerd cliché - who wouldn’t want to be like us?_ But, BAU standards were much higher than the FBI, and as many cadets as they accepted, very few made it through the training and testing to become baby profilers. The unit was stretched thin and they needed fresh meat - it was as simple as that.

Hotch stopped at a table that promised a better, more accurate stun gun. He used the smirk: he was sure that non-lethal force had its place; he just hadn’t found it yet. As he asked the vendor a few technical questions, he felt as if someone was watching him. Hotch looked up and around until he saw the eyes that wanted to be found. The man wandered slowly through the crowd and tables until he appeared in front of Hotch, his hand outstretched in greeting.

“Agent Hotchner.”

“Officer Blackwolf.” Hotch shook the man’s hand and allowed himself a small smile. “I’ve never seen you at one of these conferences.”

“Didn’t know you were looking. That’s not very Batman of you.”

Hotch waved off the teasing. “How are things in Terra Mesa?”

“Dry, desolate, all indians and no cowboys… it’s paradise on earth.” Blackwolf didn’t appear to be joking, but who could tell. “According to the conference agenda, your lapdogs are doing a show in half an hour.”

“Yes.” Hotch grumbled. “Are you interested in working for the white demon? You’d really ruffle all the right kind of feathers at the Bureau. I’d love to sit back and watch that. Plus, you’re already a decent profiler…”

“As flattering and condescending as your offer is, I’ll pass.” Blackwolf looked up from the stun gun models and stared. “You’re different.”

“Pardon?”

“You look different, and its not just 7 years of wear and tear, the scar just above your shirt collar, or your missing wedding band.”

Hotch kept the surprise from his face. “You don’t miss much.”

Blackwolf stared for a hard minute and then walked away. Hotch fell into step beside him; the invitation seemed implicit. 

“Was it the job that drove her away?” Blackwolf asked without looking at Hotch.

“In a manner of speaking. She was murdered.”

Blackwolf nodded and appeared to be distracted by a vendor booth that featured sniper rifles. “You’ll meet her again in time.”

“I don’t believe in that.”

“It doesn’t matter. Your faith is not required for it to work.”

They continued walking slowly towards the conference hall. Hotch remembered that he owed this man a debt.

“I never thanked you for the smirk.”

Blackwolf looked at Hotch and smiled for the first time. “Yeah, I saw you using it across the room. You’ve got it nailed down pretty good. For a heathen.”

“It gets a lot of use.” Hotch smiled back.

“I guess that you’re ready for your next lesson.”

Hotch stopped and faced Blackwolf. They were almost at the conference hall and a small crowd was milling outside the main doors waiting to get in and hear about the glory that is being a BAU field agent.

“The guy who got your wife, did he give you the scars as well?”

Hotch felt his face tighten and nodded once. Blackwolf was much better at this than he was 7 years ago.

“Did you get him?”

Hotch nodded again, his pulse rising.

“But he made you work for it, didn’t he? He made you _feel_ it…”

Hotch stepped into Blackwolf. Respect or not, some things were off limits. He’d nearly died and then killed the man who took his wife from him with his bare hands. Blackwolf could take his stony mysticism and folksy profiling and shove it up his ass. The man was _guessing_ at Hotch’s experiences. He was poking around in the spots that were still red and oozing with hate. It wasn’t playtime: Hotch had to live here.

“ _That’s_ the look. That’s what I’m talking about.” Blackwolf pointed at Hotch’s face. “That look and my knife have gotten me out of more bad situations than I can count. Remember it. It works better than a gun.”

“I thought that you profiled me as someone who always had to get his gun off.” Hotch tried to bleed off his anger.

“Sometimes, they get within 21 feet of you.” Blackwolf stared at Hotch, his expression oddly concerned. “You’ve gotta learn to gut as well as shoot. _That_ look will slice someone wide open, trust me.”

Blackwolf stood his ground and, eventually, Hotch backed away a step. He was angry with the wrong person and he knew it.

“That guy left you something - it’s up to you how you use it.” Blackwolf nodded. “Keeping practicing.”

Blackwolf walked away into the growing crowd without another word. The set of his shoulders and the briskness of his stride seemed to say ‘see you around’ to Hotch. He wondered if he was just imagining it. Hotch looked down and took a deep breath. At his feet was a small white card. He picked it up and saw Officer Blackwolf’s office number and email address in embossed print. On the flip side was a loosely scrawled note:

 _ **Keep at it, Batman**_.


End file.
